


a delicate flame runs beneath

by buskie



Series: Ineffable Wives [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Cunnilingus, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, First Kiss, First Time, Genderswap, Lesbian Sex, Love Confessions, Morning After, Morning Sex, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut, Standalone, Yearning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-07
Updated: 2019-09-13
Packaged: 2020-10-12 00:11:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20555000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buskie/pseuds/buskie
Summary: Crowley pressed her lips against the mouth of her beer bottle, watching, waiting,willing.“Crowley, my dear. Are you even listening?”Just one more button, she commanded, silently.Give me just one more inch.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from a poem by Sappho.

When Crowley first stepped into AZ FELL AND Co. after the failed Armageddon, it took a moment for her to regain her composure. The beloved bookshop was exactly how it had been before the fire, but when Crowley closed her eyes, she could see the orange flames dancing around the books, eating up everything in sight like a gluttonous dragon. Even now, when she breathed in, she could smell a hint of smoke. No sulphur, though, since what she had first assumed was Hellfire was actually an accident with a candle, and _oh_, the fear was still there, clamoring away just beneath the surface.

“Crowley!”

Crowley shook off the darkness that tickled at the edges of her vision. It was a lot easier than she thought to dredge up a smile for Aziraphale when she tripped her way across the bookshop, beaming with unaffected joy. Crowley could almost trick herself into thinking the smile was just for her.

“_There_ you are, my dear,” said Aziraphale, coming to a stop less than a foot away, closer than usual. Boldly, Crowley swayed a step forward, well into Aziraphale’s personal space, but Aziraphale just tilted her head back and smiled brightly up at her. She had lost her usual suit-jacket, and her shirt—white, with a band collar and capped sleeves—was tucked into her high-waisted tweed skirt.

“Uh,” said Crowley.

_Cute,_ she thought despairingly. It was a depressingly familiar thought, one she’d had countless times over the last six thousand years.

Thankfully Aziraphale didn’t seem to require a response, because she immediately launched into speech, like she had been building up the words while she was waiting for Crowley. “Would you look at this! I wouldn’t have believed the bookshop had burnt down if you hadn’t told me and if there weren’t first editions of _101 Things A Boy Can Do_ and _Biggles Goes To Mars_, among other similar titles.”

“Biggles?” said Crowley, her mouth forming into a grin.

“I know,” Aziraphale sighed happily. “Dreadful, isn’t it?” For a second, Crowley thought she would take her by the hand, but then she folded her arms behind her back. “So, what will it be tonight? The Ritz, or would you like to stay in? I think I still have one or two bottles of Châteauneuf-du-Pape tucked away.”

Crowley’s lips curled at the reminder and she shrugged one shoulder. A part of her wanted to get the fuck out of the bookshop and leave all those horrible memories behind, but a bigger part of wanted to replace those memories with better ones. “Stay in. Although I think I’m in the mood for a nice cold glass of bitter.”

Aziraphale scrunched her nose. “I have no idea how you can stand that stuff.” She tutted, and then, much to Crowley’s shock and secret delight, took her arm and carried her off into the back room.

* * *

In retrospect, it was all that damned shirt’s fault. And possibly that last bottle of bitter. And maybe the fifth bottle of Châteauneuf-du-Pape.

Crowley had her snakeskin boots kicked up on the table and was listening with a fond smile while Aziraphale tripped from reminiscing about Hamlet into rhapsodizing about some edition of some book. But then one of Aziraphale’s hands crept up to undo the top button of her shirt collar, exposing a quarter inch of creamy white skin, and Crowley’s brain screeched to a halt. She stared at that quarter inch of skin, suddenly very much glad that her eyes were hidden. Part of the reason Crowley kept her sunglasses on when they were alone and drinking themselves silly was so that she could secretly capture moments like this: Aziraphale getting drunk enough to let down her guard, just a little bit. Crowley pressed her lips against the mouth of her beer bottle, watching, waiting, _willing_.

“Crowley, my dear. Are you even listening?”

_Just one more button_, she commanded, silently. _Give me just one more inch_.

Without her suit-jacket, Aziraphale’s shirt stretched provocatively over her ample chest. It would be nothing to reach one arm over the table and undo the rest of her buttons. It was easy to imagine what she looked like under that shirt, full white breasts spilling over the top of her bra, barely contained, her pink nipples peeking through white lace.

“Crowley.”

Crowley could even imagine what those tits of hers tasted like—a little salty from sweat, a little earthy, a little sweet. Crowley could bend over Aziraphale while she unbuttoned her shirt and lick every centimeter of newly exposed skin, until she reached the top of her tweed skirt, and then—

“Crowley!”

Crowley jerked in surprise, all of her limbs flailing, her chair tipping dangerously back. Only a miracle kept her from spilling to the floor, but some of her beer sloshed out of her bottle and splashed down the front of her shirt.

“Sata—Go—_shit_, angel!” Crowley cursed, the front of her chair crashing back to the floor. She set her bottle on the table and shook the beer off her hand, scowling a little. “The hell are you bellowing about?”

Aziraphale’s pink lips twisted a little in irritation. “Have you heard a word I said in the past five minutes?”

“Sure I did. You were talking about, uh—” What the hell had she been talking about? Crowley had lost the thread somewhere around the time they’d started reminiscing about Hamlet, but she was pretty sure that _had_ been five minutes ago. “The new edition of, uh—”

Aziraphale sighed, but since she was an angel—since she was _Aziraphale_—her irritation was brief, and her lips curled up in her usual smile. “The _first_ edition of Patricia Highsmith’s _The Price of Salt_,” she corrected. “Where were you, anyway? You appeared to be a million miles away.”

“Just glad to be here with you,” said Crowley sucking some of the spilled beer off the side of one finger. It wasn’t even a lie. She _was_ glad to be there, that all the nonsense with the failed Apocalypse was a thing of the past.

Aziraphale didn’t respond.

“Angel?” said Crowley, frowning slightly, but then she noticed exactly where Aziraphale was looking.

Aziraphale didn’t have the benefit of sunglasses to hide where her gaze lingered, and so Crowley didn’t miss the way her eyes tracked her lips, then down to the droplet of beer that had splashed to her neck. Crowley could feel its slow descent between her clavicles, down her bony chest, to the dip between her breasts. Her eyebrows shot up, but she said nothing, instead watched Aziraphale as she watched her. Curiously, she dropped her finger from her lips, down to where the droplet had just disappeared between her tits, tracing the tip of her finger along the same path.

Aziraphale’s lips parted.

_Hello, what’s this?_ Crowley thought. She swung her legs of the table, boots landing with a thump on the floor. Aziraphale startled, eyes flying up to Crowley’s face, twin spots of red flooding to her cheeks. Neither of them said anything.

Then Crowley reached across the table, slowly, as if in a dream, and undid the next button of Aziraphale’s shirt.

Aziraphale inhaled sharply, her chest heaving, and Crowley fervently thanked whatever angel had the foresight to assign this glorious body to Aziraphale. She undid the next button, and the next, and next, until a tantalizing swell of cleavage was revealed.

Crowley looked up at her, over the top of her sunglasses. “Can I?”

“Oh, take off those bloody sunglasses,” Aziraphale snapped, then reached over and took them off herself, tossing them onto the table. Crowley would have objected to the wanton abuse of her property, but, really, she had about two dozen spares stored in her Bentley alone, and she was currently in the process of _unbuttoning Aziraphale’s shirt_.

“Proceed,” said Aziraphale, primly, if a little breathlessly.

Crowley chuckled. Three more buttons and Aziraphale was spilling out of her shirt. They gasped at the same time. Crowley’s eyes widened slightly. The bra wasn’t lace, but it wasn’t much else, either, barely containing Aziraphale’s beautiful, plump breasts, her pink nipples poking through the thin, sheer white cloth, already perky.

Crowley sat rooted to the spot, one hand hovering over Aziraphale’s chest, eyes wide, mouth hanging open. Aziraphale watched her under her eyelashes, lips curving into a secret smile.

“Are you quite alright, my dear?” she asked, sweetly, _slyly_.

“Ngk,” said Crowley.

Aziraphale shrugged off her shirt and tossed it to the side, her breasts _bouncing_, and Crowley could do nothing but stare, dumbfounded, her brain completely offline.

And then Aziraphale took Crowley’s hand, and she _put it on her chest_.

Crowley’s entire body jerked as if electrocuted, and she nearly toppled out of her chair.

“Oh, hmm,” Aziraphale said, shivering slightly, her hand still over Crowley’s. She massaged her own breast with Crowley’s hand, eyelashes fluttering slightly. “That’s quite—mmm.”

Hang on. Crowley had been pretty certain _she’d_ been control of this situation. And yet it was like the reins had been wrested from her loose grasp and set firmly into Aziraphale’s capable hands. That was fine. Crowley vastly preferred her current handful.

And then Crowley’s thumb tripped over Aziraphale’s nipple, and Aziraphale let out a shivery sigh, and that was _it_. Crowley shot to her feet so quickly that she knocked over her chair.

“Up up up,” she ordered.

Aziraphale slowly blinked her eyes back open, worrying her lower lip between her teeth. Her eyes were dark pools of heat, pupils blown wide, and a flush high on her cheeks. 

“Or I can go down, that’s fine too,” said Crowley.

“N-no,” said Aziraphale. She braced one hand against the table, like she needed the extra support, and pushed herself to her feet. Apparently, her knees were a little weak, because she stumbled against Crowley, into her arms.

It had been a long, long six thousand years since Crowley had first imagined this exact scenario. Aziraphale tilted her head back, watching Crowley from under tangled eyelashes, her breasts squashed against Crowley’s chest, spilling out of that ridiculous bra, and Crowley snarled suddenly, pushing Aziraphale up against the wall. 

“Oh,” said Aziraphale, the corner of her mouth quirking up in an unangelic smirk. “This again? I _had_ rather hoped this is how it would have played out the first time—”

Crowley kissed her, mostly for her own sanity.

Aziraphale’s lips were soft, and tart from the wine, and yielded under Crowley’s demands, parting to let in her tongue. Crowley tried to keep it gentle—it was their first kiss, and she’d always imagined it would be tender—but then Aziraphale nipped at her lower lip and, really, it had been six thousand bloody years, and Crowley couldn’t be held responsible for how deep the kiss got, not when Aziraphale met her for frantic passion.

Crowley kept one hand on Aziraphale’s breast, pinching her nipple through the thin cloth, her entire body humming with need. She wanted to do everything at once—but first, she _had_ to get her mouth on those beautiful tits. She slowly drew back from Aziraphale’s mouth; Aziraphale followed, chasing after the kiss, and Crowley pressed two more sweet kisses into her mouth, before she ducked down and flicked her tongue over one of Aziraphale’s nipples through the sheer cloth of her bra.

Aziraphale gasped, arching away from the wall, her hand flying up to cup the back of Crowley’s head. “O-oh, _Crowley_,” she groaned, in a voice that was deep and throaty from lust.

Crowley had memories of Heaven, distant, and locked away. She remembered the constant feeling of happiness and bliss, of total acceptance, of unconditional love. Of euphoria so great that it bordered erotic.

It had _nothing_ on this.

_Finally_, her body sang, rejoicing. _Finally._

Crowley hiked her hand up and under Aziraphale’s skirt, sliding up her supple thigh until her fingers brushed the edge of her underwear. Cotton, because Aziraphale was ever practical, except with her _ridiculous_ bra, apparently. Aziraphale’s long eyelashes fluttered and her lips parted with a small sound as Crowley slipped her fingers higher, where her underwear was already warm and wet through.

“Bugger me,” Crowley croaked against the swell of Aziraphale’s right breast. Her own cunt throbbed hotly in response, a rush of lust prickling across her skin.

“Well,” said Aziraphale thoughtfully, breathlessly. “I could manifest a dick, if you want—”

Crowley kissed her again, because if she didn’t, she’d fucking discorporate.

Aziraphale reached down, wrapping a shaky hand around Crowley’s wrist. She didn’t push her away, though. She pushed her closer, urgent.

Crowley leaned her arm over Aziraphale’s head, needing the extra support. Aziraphale keened, grip tightening around her wrist when Crowley gently thrust the tips of her fingers into her through her panties. It made her so fucking hot to know that it was _she_ who did this to Aziraphale. _She_ was the one who made a mess of her panties, made her whimper desperately into Crowley’s mouth, fingers pressing bruises into Crowley’s wrist.

Aziraphale broke away from the kiss, gasping into Crowley’s shoulder as Crowley pushed her damp panties to the side.

“_Oh_,” Aziraphale breathed, as Crowley found her dark, wet entrance, teasing her fingertips barely into her. She was so fucking soft, and dripping wet, and Crowley gasped just as frantically as Aziraphale did.

“C-Crowley,” Aziraphale stammered. Her own hand stole hesitantly up and under the front of Crowley’s shirt, shyly cupping her left tit under her bra. Crowley hummed her encouragement, pressing closer. The pad of Aziraphale’s soft thumb skimmed over Crowley’s nipple, and when Crowley hissed in shocked pleasure at the small bolt of electricity that shot through her, Aziraphale did it again, harder.

“Tell me what you want, angel,” Crowley murmured, the bottom of her lip catching the lobe of Aziraphale’s ear. Aziraphale shuddered.

“I want you to—that is—oh _bother_,” Aziraphale said, all in a quick breath. “If you could—” She pressed at Crowley’s shoulder, looking up into her eyes beseechingly.

Without asking for further clarification, Crowley went to her knees.

Under Aziraphale’s skirt, the air was hot and humid, and smelled like sweet musk. Crowley groaned, grabbing Aziraphale’s thighs and spreading her legs further. The first lick was over her panties, tasting at how Aziraphale had soaked through the cloth. They both moaned, Aziraphale’s entire body jolting against the wall.

“Crowley—oh, my dear,” she said, grabbing her head through her skirt.

Never before had Crowley been so glad that she didn’t need to breathe, not even when she’d been stuck in a room slowly filling with poison gas during the First World War. Crowley reached up one hand, pushing the wet crotch of her panties to the side, and licked into her as deep as she could, burying her nose into damp blonde curls. Her cunt was hot, and wet, and soft, and tasted like nothing short of ambrosia. Crowley moaned. She could live here, between Aziraphale’s soft thighs. 

Aziraphale moaned her approval, fingers spasming against the back of Crowley’s head. Crowley pulled back, pressing a kiss against her cunt and giving her a moment to catch her breath. Then she licked the flat of her tongue up Aziraphale’s clit while simultaneously, effortlessly, sliding a finger into her. 

Aziraphale arched away from the wall with a half-sob. “Oh, Crowley, _please_,” she begged.

Crowley fucked her cunt with her finger, matching her rhythm with her tongue, her free hand gripping Aziraphale’s thigh as her knees buckled and threatened to give out from under her. She writhed against the wall, crying out as Crowley drank her in. Aziraphale was so _wet_, getting wetter by the second, her desperate moans quieting down to short gasps as the trembling in her legs intensified. 

This was it. 

Crowley could feel it building up in her, and so she licked harder, added in another finger, wild with a burning need to make Aziraphale fall apart. 

For _her_. 

Aziraphale was _hers_.

And then Aziraphale’s entire body locked up and she threw her head back with a long, throaty scream. It was, hands down, the most beautiful sound Crowley had ever heard in her entire long life, and she’d seen Freddie Mercury perform live. She pressed her hand against Aziraphale’s stomach, holding her up as she licked her through her orgasm. It went on for a wonderful eternity, Aziraphale groaning when each new wave shook her body, Crowley happily licking into her until Aziraphale whimpered and pushed at her shoulders, oversensitive.

Crowley ducked back out from under her skirt, copper-red hair a disarray, shooting her a glistening grin. Aziraphale stared down at her, blue eyes wide and shocky, cheeks pink. Her curls were a mess, as if she’d grabbed her own hair while Crowley was under her skirt. It was the most beautiful sight Crowley had ever seen, and Crowley had been in literal paradise.

“How was that?” Crowley asked, licking her lips.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale breathed, reaching up one trembling hand to cup the side of Crowley’s face. 

Crowley’s smile faded. She thought she could read the emotion in Aziraphale’s eyes, had seen it once or twice before. She thought she knew what Aziraphale wanted to say, but she couldn’t bear to hear it now, not when Aziraphale was befuddled by lust and might say something she’d regret later. And if Aziraphale ever took back what she clearly wanted to say now, it would _destroy_ Crowley. She would surrender fully to the darkness that always threatened to consume her. She would lose herself to the beast lurking in the shadows even now. She would never, ever recover. So she turned her face into Aziraphale’s caressing hand and sank her teeth into her palm, not hard enough to damage, but hard enough to send a message.

Aziraphale hissed and drew her hand back, and Crowley turned challenging eyes up at her.

“I understand,” Aziraphale murmured. “But don’t think you’ve escaped this conversation so easily, you old serpent.”

“I think,” said Crowley, “you should shut up and fuck me already.”

A martial light replaced the softness in Aziraphale’s eyes. She placed her hand on Crowley’s shoulder and shoved her down to the ground, and then straddled her thighs, skirt splayed out over them both.

“Get these blasted things _off_,” Aziraphale fairly growled, yanking at the front of Crowley’s jeans, then giving up, exerting her will, and ripping the front open in a _fucking hot_ display of strength. 

“Come here,” Aziraphale ordered, grabbing her thighs and dragging her closer and—holy fuck, Crowley never knew how much she liked being tossed around like this by her gentle, sweet, unassuming angel. 

“Ang—” was all Crowley had the time to say, before Aziraphale grabbed the sides of Crowley’s panties and tore them off her, like they were made of tissue paper.

“Holy _fuck_, Aziraphale—” Crowley yelped, jerking up into a sitting position, but then Aziraphale lowered herself between Crowley’s thighs and licked deep into her, a little clumsily, a little experimental, and yet somehow domineering, her strong hands pressing Crowley’s thighs open wide. Crowley did not _whimper_—except, okay, she totally did, deep in the back of her throat. 

Sometimes it was easy to forget Aziraphale had once been a warrior, but then she did something like this—grabbed Crowley’s thighs and pulled them over her shoulders, still gentle, yet so damned commanding—as a reminder of her hidden strength. It made Crowley _throb_ with want, made her whole body heat up and her heart pound. She thumped back down, clawing her fingers into the floor, trying to anchor herself to the world as Aziraphale enthusiastically ate her out.

It was obvious that Aziraphale was learning as they went along, which in itself was a huge fucking turn on. She pressed bruises into Crowley’s thighs, and then replaced her tongue with two of her fingers, pulling back to watch Crowley’s reaction from under her eyelashes. Crowley dug her fingers into the floor, biting her lower lip to hold back a curse, a rebellious part of her not wanting Aziraphale to see how easily she took her apart. But by the curve of her smile, Crowley knew that she saw anyway, and it really shouldn’t have struck her like a thunderclap when Aziraphale leaned back down and gently sucked on her clit.

The curse came out despite Crowley’s best efforts. “Oh, _fuck_,” she bellowed, back arching off the floor.

It usually took longer than, oh, five seconds for Crowley to climax—especially during oral sex—but she’d already been worked up to a near frenzy, and besides—_besides_, it was Aziraphale’s lips pressed against her cunt in a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss. It was Aziraphale who, six thousand years ago, set her hand on Crawly’s shoulder with no hesitation, bracing herself so that she could stand on her tiptoes and stretch her wing over Crawly’s head. It was Aziraphale who had neglected to learn Crowley’s new name for _centuries_ (and hadn’t that stung?), but who had then invited her out for oysters. It was Aziraphale who had looked at her with such longing, before breaking her into a million pieces with six words and her name: _You go to fast for me, Crowley_.

It was Aziraphale, the object of her affection—her ardor, her obsession, her burning, all-consuming, _demonic_ love.

And so it was no time at all before warmth pooled low in her stomach, like liquid sunlight; a brilliant solar wave that built up and up and then crested for a torturous eternity, until it crashed through her in a warm rush of pure pleasure. She shouted, and cursed, and writhed, fighting her way through her orgasm like she always did. Aziraphale would not be moved. She dug her fingers into Crowley’s thighs and ruthlessly dragged her tongue over her clit, drawing out another, equally destructive swell, and a third. She didn’t stop until Crowley sank back onto the floor, and only drew back when Crowley hissed and pushed at her head. Aziraphale leaned back on her heels, blue eyes hooded but brilliant. She lifted her hand to her reddened lips and sucked clean the finger that had been inside Crowley, humming with pleasure at the taste.

Crowley’s entire body spasmed with a small aftershock. She dropped back to the floor with a thump.

“Scrummy,” said Aziraphale.

Crowley lifted her leg and smacked her arm with her thigh, which had the not unpleasing effect of making Aziraphale laugh. “Shut up,” Crowley groaned.

Aziraphale stretched out, half on top of her, resting her hand on Crowley’s ribs and her head on her shoulder, all soft and pliant and warm. Her blonde curls tickled her chin. “Crowley,” she said earnestly. “That was quite—”

“I said shut up, angel,” said Crowley, though there was no bite to it. It really was _quite_.

Aziraphale snorted, trailing her fingers up and under Crowley’s breast. Crowley wasn’t sporting a fantastic set like Aziraphale was, but she still had a modest handful, which Aziraphale appeared to appreciate.

“I think,” said Aziraphale, tracing her fingertip around Crowley’s nipple, “we should invest in some quality vibrators.”

Crowley startled violently. “_Aziraphale_,” she said, scandalized.

“Although I suppose, with a little Effort, I could manifest a vibrating dick—”

“I can’t believe you’ve just ruined the mood,” complained Crowley, furrowing her eyebrows. “Here I am, trying to enjoy my afterglow after the best sex of my life, and you’re talking about _vibrating dicks_—”

“Oh,” interrupted Aziraphale, pushing herself up, her wickedly grinning face blocking Crowley’s view of the ceiling. “But who said we were done?”

Crowley’s eyes grew wide. “Ah,” she said weakly.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The next morning, Aziraphale takes Crowley apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now with a sequel!

“Crowley.”

Crowley slowly blinked her eyes open. Morning sunlight slanted in through her window, directly across her face. She frowned and squeezed her eyes shut again. “What.”

Strong hands gripped her bare legs, thumbs lightly caressing the inside of her thighs. Crowley let out a sleepy noise as she stretched her arms over her head, then squinted her eyes open again and pushed herself up on one elbow. The sunlight canted over the bed, illuminating Aziraphale’s curls and the tangle of her blonde eyelashes. She was—she was stretched out between Crowley’s legs, hands on her thighs, watching her with a fondly amused expression on her face.

“What—?” Crowley rasped.

“Can I?” said Aziraphale, far too _awake_ for whatever unsomeonely hour it was.

“Yeah,” said Crowley, although her sleepy brain still hadn’t caught up and she had no idea what she was agreeing too. That was the problem with the angel—Crowley was far too prone to do whatever she asked without thinking.

Aziraphale smiled sweetly at her, then brought up her hands, spread Crowley’s cunt open with her fingertips, and licked deeply into her.

“Oh fuck!” Crowley yelped, and flailed into a sitting position, hands flying up to grab the back of Aziraphale’s head. “Oh _fuck_, angel.”

Aziraphale shot a pleased look up at Crowley’s reaction, teasing around her clit with the tip of her tongue. A flood of warmth rushed through Crowley, making Aziraphale hum in delight, a gentle vibration. Crowley felt herself get impossibly wet, and Aziraphale nuzzled her way back down, curling her tongue deep into her, like she wanted to lick up all her desire.

Crowley gritted her teeth, her breath catching and lodging in her chest. The only noise in the room was the obscene wet sound of Aziraphale licking into her, punctuated by pleased little moans from the angel. Her back was a sweet curve; she was naked save for a pair of pink panties, her arms hooked over Crowley’s thighs so that she could spread her open with her fingertips, giving herself deeper access.

The view was nearly enough to discorporate her.

“A-Aziraphale,” Crowley stuttered, breath bursting out of her. Blue eyes peeked up at her from under tangled eyelashes, and Crowley dropped her head back with a groan. “Oh—oh my G—”

“Let’s not bring Her into this,” Aziraphale murmured. “Although this is as close to Heaven as I’ve been in ages.”

Groaning for a completely different reason, Crowley pushed at her shoulder. “That was _terrible_ and you should be ashamed of yourself.”

Aziraphale leaned back on her heels, grinning a bit, her mouth glistening from—oh, _fuck_—her lips plump from—Crowley was going to spontaneously discorporate. Even though she _knew_, empirically, that Aziraphale was naked save for those pink panties, seeing her sit back, the morning sun bathing her bare chest in gold, was enough to make Crowley throb with _want_. She _wanted_ to pull Aziraphale into her arms, and to kiss her until she was shaking, and to worship her until she broke apart. But Aziraphale was running the show right now, and Crowley was a little afraid that any sudden movements would break the spell.

It took her sleepy, lust-drenched brain several seconds to remember last night, undoing the buttons of Aziraphale’s shirt, sliding her hand up her soft thigh, to where her panties had already been wet. For _Crowley_. They had gone to bed together, and Crowley had gone to sleep certain that Aziraphale would wake her up the next morning and tell her, _terribly sorry, my dear, but this was a dreadful mistake that can’t happen again._

Was _she_ wrong.

Aziraphale’s eyes glowed warmly from the sunlight and from her own internal light. She watched Crowley with that look on her face again, the one that was frightening for what it wanted to say. Crowley swallowed and looked down at her lap.

Gentle fingers reached out to tip Crowley’s chin back up. “Do you want me to stop?” Aziraphale asked. 

Chest still tight with longing, Crowley hid behind her usual irritated bluster. “If you dare stop right now I swear to fucking God I will murder you.”

Aziraphale smirked at her. “Language,” she murmured, and she brought up one hand to suck on two of her fingers. 

“Angel—” Crowley managed to say, but then Aziraphale slowly drew her fingers out of her mouth and lowered them between Crowley’s thighs, trailing them over her cunt, barely grazing them into her slick entrance. Gasping, Crowley wrapped one hand around Aziraphale’s wrist, trying to push her deeper while simultaneously holding her in place. It was perfect, and too much, and not nearly enough. 

“I have been all over this whole wide world,” Aziraphale murmured as she drifted her slippery fingers up to her clit and back down. She never pushed them in further than her first knuckle, her teasing reducing Crowley into stuttering groans. “I’ve walked among the Seven Wonders as they were being built. I’ve listened to Für Elise played by Beethoven himself.” 

She drew her fingers out of Crowley’s cunt, bringing them back to her own mouth, sucking on her fingertips. Her eyelashes fluttered at the taste of her. She dropped her hand back down between Crowley’s thighs and resumed her curious, experimental, _agonizing_ exploration. Crowley writhed, hips rolling up as she shallowly fucked her with her fingertips, before drifting back up to rub Crowley’s clit with wet fingers, and then down again, setting a torturous rhythm. 

“I’ve been brought to tears by an unknown Spanish opera singer who has since been lost in the annals of history,” Aziraphale murmured, following the line of Crowley’s sternum with a trail of feather-light kisses, pressing her words into Crowley’s skin. “I’ve seen the sky painted in swirling greens and purples and reds while walking the North Pole.” She dipped her tongue into Crowley’s bellybutton; Crowley jerked, ticklish, and Aziraphale flashed a grin at her, but then kissed lower, to the crease of her hip, licking the sweat that had gathered there. “And yet I’ve never experienced anything as beautiful—as pure—as this moment, right now, with you.” She pressed a loving kiss against Crowley’s clit. “Was that better, my dear?”

Crowley could only gasp into her own shoulder. Aziraphale could have been speaking in a totally different language and it wouldn’t have mattered; the sensuality of her dragging her lips all over Crowley’s body, murmuring into her skin, was enough to lift her to new heights. The fact that she was pressing her _adoration_ into her skin while stroking into her with wet fingertips had brought her to the very brink of madness.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Aziraphale murmured, and then took her clit between her lips, teeth grazing the oversensitized skin, and slid her finger fully into her cunt. Crowley’s snarl of pleasure exploded into a wail when Aziraphale _nibbled_ on her, more lips than teeth, and Crowley’s entire back lifted off the bed as her orgasm was torn out of her. Aziraphale grabbed her ass, digging her fingers into her muscles and simultaneously holding her up and open, slowly licking into her until, amazingly, more heat pooled low in her stomach, a sweet pressure that built brighter and brighter until it broke her open again, spilling through her in a second pulsing rush.

Aziraphale lowered her back onto the bed, petting her legs while shivers jerked through her body. Crowley held out her arms, and Aziraphale smiled at her, then crawled on top of her, gathering her and pressing sweet, slick kisses against her lips. Crowley trembled, wrapping her arms tightly around Aziraphale’s back, mouth dropping open on its own as Aziraphale deepened the kiss.

It took her much longer than normal to come down from her orgasm. She felt more than a little shocked. Aziraphale kissed her through it, running her hands up and down her arms until her trembling gradually died down.

“Angel, I—” Crowley said, but then stopped, having no idea what she was going to say next.

“I know,” Aziraphale murmured.

Something in her surged up. Suddenly, urgently, Crowley _needed_ to make Aziraphale feel as good as she did, to—to tell her— Crowley rolled them over, straddling Aziraphale’s hips and grabbing both her wrists in one of her hands. She pinned both of her arms over her head and stared down at her, eyes slightly narrowed. But Aziraphale had never been frightened of her, even in the Beginning; she stared hotly back at Crowley, cheeks pink, eyes dark pools of desire.

“Tell me if—” said Crowley, hesitant like she never was during sex. But this was _Aziraphale_. “You have to tell me if you don’t like something, alright?”

Strong hands wrapped around Crowley’s hips. Aziraphale smoothed her thumbs over her sides, not breaking eye contact. “I will. But I trust you, Crowley.”

Crowley shivered, then lowered her head and kissed her deeply for that, until Aziraphale was whimpering into Crowley’s mouth and rolling her hips, needy and demanding. Sliding her hands down Aziraphale’s body, she hooked her thumbs under the elastic of her panties and pulled them down. It would have been simple to snap them away, but that lacked the sensuality of dragging the slip of cloth slowly over Aziraphale’s thighs, to her calves, to her ankles. She had to shuffle down, but Aziraphale followed her, not letting her break the kiss. When her panties hooked on one ankle, Aziraphale kicked them off, then urgently pulled Crowley back up.

Crowley slowly drew away from the kiss, grinning a little when Aziraphale groaned in protest. “Shhh,” she murmured, wrapping her hand around Aziraphale’s ankle. She pulled it over her shoulder, angling her body just right until—

“Oh, _fuck!_” Aziraphale cried when Crowley’s cunt, still slick from her orgasm, slid against hers. Crowley huffed out a delighted laugh, but then groaned along with Aziraphale at the sweet, wet pressure.

Normally, Crowley didn’t orgasm from this position, but she was beginning to think it was because she never had the right partner. Aziraphale writhed on the bed, trying to match Crowley’s pace, but she was too overwhelmed, digging her fingers into Crowley’s sides so hard she was sure to leave bruises, hips stuttering as her body was wracked with shivers. 

Crowley now understood why this position never worked for her before. It was too passionate, too intimate. It required a degree of trust Crowley never had with any of her previous partners. It made hot tears burn up into her throat, and she turned her face into Aziraphale’s calf, pressing kisses into her skin. But she didn’t tear her eyes away—didn’t even allow herself to blink—shoring up this memory for when it all inevitably ended. 

And when Aziraphale’s back arched off the bed, a sweet groan punching out of her, Crowley watched greedily as the pleasure rushed through her. How her eyebrows crumpled together as if she were in pain, how her cheeks flooded with pink. 

“Oh,” Crowley gasped, her hips faltering. Surprisingly, she could feel the warm pressure of another orgasm building up, low in her stomach. But before it could break through her, Aziraphale’s hands tightened around her waist, and suddenly she was the one on her back, sheets warm beneath her.

She blinked in shock, raking her hair out of her eyes. “What—” she said, both her body and mind reeling at the sudden denial of pleasure.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale gasped urgently, staring hard into her eyes. “I’m trying to tell you, I—I _get_ it now.”

Crowley blinked again, unable to keep up.

“I’m not—I’m not clever like you, I have trouble ‘getting it’ sometimes. I’m usually ten steps behind, trying to keep up, but you were always beyond my reach. But, Crowley—Crowley, I’ve caught up now. I _understand_.” Aziraphale looked into her eyes, as if asking if _Crowley_ understood, but if she wanted to have a deep and meaningful conversation she should have done it _before_ blowing Crowley’s mind with amazing sex. 

“Yeah,” Crowley agreed. She would say anything the angel wanted her to hear if it got Aziraphale’s hands back on her. She had been _so close_.

Aziraphale stared down at her, breathing shallowly through her mouth, fluffy white-blonde curls standing at wild angles. Her blue eyes were searingly dark, bluer still from the light pink blush that dusted her cheeks. She shook her head slightly, lips pursing, and Crowley had a feeling she was missing something. Before she could pull her mind back together to figure out _what the hell_, Aziraphale pushed a hand between their bodies. Crowley tensed in anticipation of Aziraphale pressing her fingers into her, but instead Aziraphale slid her fingers into her own cunt.

“Back up back up,” Crowley ordered, needing to see this. Aziraphale dutifully pushed herself up with one arm, staring down at Crowley as she slowly fingered herself. Crowley wasn’t even mad at the turn of events; the view took her breath away.

But then Aziraphale drew her fingers back out and rubbed her fingers—wet from her own desire—against Crowley’s clit.

Crowley was pretty sure her shout could be heard all the way in Heaven. She flung her head back as her orgasm _shattered_ her, snarling and writhing against the sheets. Aziraphale fucked her through it with her fingers, pressing open mouthed kisses against Crowley’s breasts, moaning as if Crowley’s orgasm got her off just as much.

Before she could come back down from the high, Aziraphale pushed down her body and grabbed her thighs, spreading her legs open and then diving down to lave her tongue over her clit, until another wave of pleasure broke in her. And then Aziraphale curled her tongue deep into her cunt, savoring her slick rush with sloppy wet moans of approval, not letting her _come down_, almost like—almost like she wanted to prove something to her. Demanding. Determined. _Devoted_.

Venerating.

_Loving_.

Hot tears spilled out of Crowley’s eyes and down the sides of her face. She gasped, back bowing off the bed, another orgasm building up in her for a torturous eternity.

Aziraphale loved—she _loved_ her.

Crowley sobbed out a scream, and her world cracking slowly, and then all at once. Feet slid on the sheets, searching for purchase as her orgasm broke her into a million pieces. Her vision whited out as the pleasure—the _love_—rocketed through her, turning her inside out, making her a mindless and wild.

When she finally came down, eons later, Aziraphale slowly drew back, pressing shivery kisses on Crowley’s flat stomach. She crawled up over her, pulling her into her arms, kissing away her tears. Her own cheeks were damp with tears. Crowley would wipe them away if she could move, but all she could do was cling to her, tense, her body wracked with shivery aftershocks. Sunlight spilled over their entangled bodies in a soft glow. Distantly, Crowley could hear the trills of a morning bird, singing its little heart out over the rush of traffic. Crowley buried her face in Aziraphale’s chest, not quite ready to face the world after being so thoroughly taken apart twice.

“Fuck, angel,” Crowley ground out when she found her voice again. “Not that I’m complaining, but what the fuck was that for?”

Aziraphale buried her face in Crowley’s hair, not answering right away. “Well,” she said, finally, _absurdly_ shy even after _that_. “You won’t let me say it out loud, so I figured I would show you.”


End file.
